I Became The Extra King With Seven Wives-Chapter 34: Morgana Raimond [1]

Morgana Raimond was born on the exact same day her mother died.

It was an occasion of excellent news instantly overshadowed by terrible tragedy.

Her mother had died with a gentle, loving smile upon her lips, using the last of her fading strength to softly hug her newborn daughter. That heartbreaking moment had been the first, only and only last time Morgana had ever been held in her mother’s arms.

Her father, Arges, had been utterly, completely distraught that day.

As physically immense as he was, and as deeply feared as he was by all of his enemies on the battlefield, he was still merely a man, a man who had loved his wife more than life itself, only to watch her slip away.

The only reason he had not completely collapsed into a pit of despair was the shrill, demanding wailing of the tiny baby girl bundled within his dead wife’s arms.

She had inherited everything of his fierce coloring, his vibrant scarlet red hair and piercing eyes but her delicate facial features were exactly as beautiful as his deceased spouse.

From that day forward, Arges had done everything in his power to raise his daughter as best as he possibly could, despite the crushing, responsibilities he bore as the Commander of the Royal Guard. King Marconius had intimately known what Arges was going through and did not mind his friend’s temporary absences in the slightest. Rather, the King had vehemently insisted that Arges focus on taking care of his daughter, even generously proposing to help raise the girl by allowing her to be brought up entirely within the safety of the royal castle.

It was a great idea for Arges, as it ensured he would never be too far from his daughter. She would be raised within the exact same fortified surroundings where he spent his days, and whenever he was inevitably called away on dangerous military duty, he could find relief in knowing she was protected behind the royal castle’s impenetrable walls.

Because of this unique arrangement, Morgana was raised almost entirely within the royal castle.

By all typical standards of noble society, she should have taken part in the exact same refined tutoring classes as Lenora and Cynthia. But Morgana was never an ordinary girl. She was raised single-handedly by the towering, incredibly brave Scarlet Commander, after all, and Arges certainly possessed no manuals on how to properly mold a little girl into a delicate young lady. He simply raised her the only way he knew how, without seeking any outside interference, and as a result, she grew up admiring him and everything he stood for.

He was a Commander, a legendary knight who fearlessly protected the Kingdom and served as the unbreakable shield for the entire royal family.

To put it plainly, since she was a very young child, everybody in the court knew she was never going to end up like Asthenia, who was the perfect paradigm of a refined noble lady in every conceivable way.

Some of the snobbish courtiers would constantly whisper malicious gossip about her remarkably tomboyish, unladylike behavior, but she did not care in the slightest. Rather, she was stubbornly hell-bent on becoming a true knight. She refused to become a fragile lady who merely stood around the grand court like some pretty, useless ornament, waiting to be practically sold off to the highest-bidding noble.

She had personally demanded that her father provide her with a harsh tutor to mold her into a proper knight, forcefully demanding to learn how to fight and master swordsmanship. She began her training at a young age, sparring with several battle-hardened knights right in the middle of the royal gardens.

Only at her father’s insistence had she begrudgingly agreed to take more disciplined, traditional classes concerning high court etiquette and basic ladylike behavior. She ultimately accepted his terms for two very distinct reasons: first of all, she could not simply deny the biological reality that she was, in fact, a young woman; and secondly, because her father sternly told her that if she truly wished to replace him one day and become Commander, she had to be knowledgeable in everything, including complex politics and delicate etiquette. Merely knowing how to swing a heavy sword would never be enough to command an entire army, so she swallowed her pride and accepted the tedious lessons.

It was during these early days that she formally met Lumiel. They were both only six years of age, yet he was the Crown Prince and the future King. Upon first laying eyes on him, Morgana was profoundly disappointed, to say the very least.

She stood tall beside her father while he cowered beside the King, trembling like a fragile leaf in the wind as he timidly refused to meet her gaze.

Back then, despite being the exact same age, Morgana was noticeably taller. She radiated a strong, unshakeable confidence inherited directly from the Scarlet Commander, a boldness that Lumiel entirely lacked, despite literally being a prince of the realm.

She simply could not understand it. Was this weeping boy truly the King she was sworn to protect in the future?

She struggled to accept such a pathetic reality, yet, at the same time, a dark sense of superiority and pride swelled within her chest. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she was stronger than him.

It made perfect sense to her childish logic: she was the valiant knight, and he was the fragile prince. Because he was utterly weak, he had to listen to her commands; otherwise, he would eventually be harmed, and he would die on the battlefield.

Consequently, whenever their schedules aligned, Morgana found a strange, intoxicating mix of genuine duty and pleasure in ’training’ Lumiel.

She would forcefully drag him out into the royal gardens, mercilessly sparring against him bare-handed or battering him with heavy wooden swords under the guise of rigorous martial exercises.

In every single encounter, Lumiel would miserably lose to her. He was pitifully weak, both in physical stature and mental fortitude.

His constant defeats profoundly annoyed her, even as they continuously fueled her own soaring ego and cemented her deep sense of superiority. Yet, beneath the arrogance, she also felt a twisted responsibility to forge him into something stronger. Thus, she ruthlessly continued.

However, what she proudly justified as vital training was universally viewed by outside observers as nothing short of relentless bullying.

The first time Lenora and Cynthia finished their refined etiquette classes and stumbled upon the gardens, they were met with a horrific sight: Lumiel, bruised and sobbing in the dirt, frantically apologizing to a thoroughly disappointed Morgana. Anyone present that day would forever remember the brawl that immediately ensued.

Both Lenora and Cynthia were furious. Despite being an incredibly skilled brawler for her age, Morgana soon found herself fiercely battling against both enraged girls at once.

Lenora was physically weak being younger , but Cynthia, though lacking Morgana’s training, packed quite a devastating punch. Her anger at seeing Lumiel in such a pitiful state had temporarily turned the usually composed girl into a demon, causing her to pounce onto Morgana like a wild, rabid beast.

Lenora eventually had to step back, choosing to shield her weeping brother as she watched Cynthia and Morgana viciously tear at each other in the dirt.

Ultimately, Cynthia’s mother, Felicia, had to physically intervene to pry the two girls apart, both of whom ended up heavily bruised and bleeding from the savage altercation.

It was difficult to say if that specific incident was the main reason, but from that day onward, it became glaringly obvious that Cynthia and Morgana would never truly get along.

In the years that followed, it was hard to tell if their bitter rivalry simply stemmed from the natural friction between a perfect, graceful lady like Cynthia and a fierce warrior like Morgana. Regardless, the passage of time did not heal their rift, especially as Morgana stubbornly continued her harsh ’training’ sessions with Lumiel, and Cynthia constantly intervened to aggressively put a stop to them.

Perhaps Cynthia’s endless pestering and interference, coupled with the way Lumiel’s face would instantly overflow with pure undisguised happiness the moment she appeared to save him, planted a small, bitter seed of resentment deep inside Morgana’s heart.

After all, Morgana was the one bleeding and sweating to make him stronger, yet he was always so eager to happily cower behind Cynthia’s skirts! He had never once directed such a joyful, relieved expression toward her!

That quiet grudge only continued to fester. By the time Morgana turned twelve, the physical training finally came to an abrupt halt. This was largely because she had grown old enough to fully comprehend exactly how her brutal methods were being viewed by the sneering nobles of the court.

To them, a mere little girl was maliciously beating up the Crown Prince of Helios.

Upon learning that Lumiel was suffering immense political and social humiliation as a direct result of her actions, she completely abandoned her efforts. However, that merciful cessation did not change the obvious fact that, whenever she encountered him at royal events in the following years, she remained remarkably harsh and verbally biting toward him, disgusted by his soft, untrained physique and perpetually cowering stance.

It felt as though all her grueling years of early training had been entirely for naught. She remained bitterly disappointed in the frail Prince and future King she had sworn to eventually protect.

Above all else, she despised weakness. Seeing a young man who was inherently privileged from birth with superior royal bloodlines and natural physical advantages remain so utterly pathetic infuriated her beyond measure.

It was certainly not true hatred she harbored toward him, deep, abiding dislike was a far more accurate term. She knew her disdain was not entirely justified, but every single time she saw him, he appeared somehow weaker and softer than the last. It was difficult to banish that festering feeling of disgust.

And so, as the years slipped by, they naturally grew further apart. Whatever strange, harsh closeness they had once shared quickly dimmed into nothingness. Lumiel became increasingly fragile and deeply withdrawn, slowly crushed beneath the burden of royal expectations and the poisonous whispers of the court nobles. Conversely, Morgana only grew stronger and far more impressive, rigorously training with her father whenever he was present, and sparring with the hardened Royal Knights when he was not.

Everything in her life had seemed to be progressing perfectly, until she received the news of King Marconius’s sudden death, followed by the horrifying royal decree that she was to become Lumiel’s fourth wife.